Like two partners gliding across a dance floor, Alex and Ishrak duelled. Their dance of death was one that was as old as time itself. If Ishrak led with powerful and heavy strikes, Alex responded in kind with labored blocks and quick ripostes.
As a pair, they twisted and turned to the silent tune of combat. One misstep would ruin the whole performance. One twist in the wrong direction would mean disaster.
One error meant the end of their dance.
Only they knew the moves to their desperate tango. Only they could hear the sharp discordant notes directing the symphony that would only end when one of them was dead.
Theirs was a dance that wasn't elegant, it was chaotic, messy and frenzied. Every step was made frantically, both opponents trying to gain the upper hand by using whatever means necessary. If Alex tried to close the distance, Ishrak would push back with a sweeping attack from his scythe.
With nothing but the forest and the stars overhead as an audience, the two of them continued to dance…
***
"You need to end him quickly, Alexander." Arburnok's grave voice caused Alex to twist just too slowly to avoid the scythe sweeping for his legs, earning him a burning cut from the dark curved blade.
"If this fight drags on, he will kill you. Find a weakness, and exploit it." Alex managed to duck under the follow up swing from the Hellfire sword, but was forced to backstep immediately after. His attempts at getting close to land blows had been futile.
Alex mentally cursed the Daemon for saying something that he already knew all too well. The moment their blades had met for the first time, Alex knew he was outmatched. Even if the two of them had comparable strength, which Alex was sure wasn't the case, the warlord had far more duelling experience. He knew how to set the pace of combat, and the bastard had been unrelenting so far.
He had been struggling to keep up with the Daemon's blurring speed and the surprising strength with which he managed to swing his two weapons.
Alex had initially thought that the weapons would surely hinder his foe because he couldn't fathom how anyone could fight well with a farming tool and an executioner's sword. Oh, how wrong he was.
It was only thanks to his agile movements and hastily made blocks that he was still standing. Still, Arburnok was right. He had to find something he could exploit to set his opponent off guard. He had to find a chink in the seemingly impenetrable defenses that the warlord had, but so far it wasn't looking promising.
If Alex somehow managed to get close enough to land an attack, it was as if his opponent had seen it coming and had already recovered in time to block or deflect the [Blades of Beruviel] before they did any lasting damage.
It didn't matter how many times he tried a new tactic or approach, the Daemon was always ready for whatever attack came his way.
Still, he fought with all he had. His strikes were made with a ferocious recklessness that, more often than not, ended up with him receiving a shallow cut from the Daemon's blades.
His attacks weren't made with the practiced hand of a refined warrior, but rather someone who was just doing everything he could to stay alive. They were frantic and desperate attacks intended to throw the warlord off balance, but it was all for naught.
Landing at least one blow might just be enough to give the Daemon pause, but as things were, it felt like he was toying with Alex.
The bastard didn't even consider Alex enough of a threat to take him seriously, his leisure-like movements and relentless attacks were proof of that fact. Of course he was weaker than a Daemon warlord, how could he have even thought there was a chance in hell of winning?
***
The truth of the matter, and something Alex would only come to realize later, is that Ishrak was actually taking the fight seriously and giving it his all.
They weren't necessarily equals in all aspects of combat, but what Alex lacked in strength he made up for with his speed. The only reason that the Daemon had any advantage was that he was setting the tempo of the fight.
The second that Ishrak relented or slowed down in any capacity would be the second that Alex would have an opening, he just had to survive long enough to get to that point. Something that was far easier said than done with the way that the warlord kept pressing his advantage. His sheer duelling prowess showed in the multitude of shallow cuts that Alex had in various places.
If things kept up this way, their dance would be over before it had even truly begun…
***
Ishrak mentally cursed as the human managed to backstep out of the range of his sweeping attack.
For whatever reason, the magic circles that he had set up hadn't been triggered, which allowed the little pissant to fight at full strength. The one thing that he had counted on to assure his victory had failed him.
He knew that the fight was balancing on a knife's edge, waiting for that one critical moment that it teetered into favoring one of them. If he overextended his reach without landing a blow then the human would be able to punish with a quick jab of his daggers.
He was aware of the fact that his combat experience was the only reason this fight favored him in the slightest, if the human had been just slightly stronger then he could have already overpowered Ishrak with ease.
It was that thought that caused him to acknowledge that his opponent was indeed formidable. The human matched Ishrak's ferocious attacks with the same intensity, and though he had yet to land a blow, there had been some close calls. Ishrak had felt the chilled razor edge of those daggers as they barely brushed past his ribs, and he had no desire to feel their bite.
He was aware that while his foe might not have a lot of combat experience, he was intelligent. The unsteady footwork and trembling hands from before had all but disappeared.
It was likely that the human was simply acting on instinct, and the adrenaline pumping through him allowed him to keep up in the fight.
Still, it was impressive, and Ishrak had to admit to himself that he had finally encountered someone who wasn't outright weaker or more powerful than him. This human was his perfect match. Though this was a fight that would end in one of their deaths, he started to enjoy himself.
He couldn't remember the last time he had a fight like this, it reminded him of his time in the pits. The way the human moved made Ishrak think of some of his earliest fights, where he faced off against beasts and wild animals. Oftentimes the creatures had been intentionally starved, which only made them more ferocious. And Ishrak saw that same ferociousness in this human.
His attacks were quick, but unrefined and hastily made. Had the human had more training then perhaps Ishrak would be covered in similar cuts that his foe bore.
Both fighters were giving their all and fighting with more than just their bodies. Ishrak was pouring his heart and soul into this fight, and from the way the human fought it was clear that he was doing the same. Though they were opponents, they were both fighting with their entire being, they were both fighting for their right to survive.
All it would take to end this fight would be one decisive strike. All he had to do was land a hit that went beyond shallow cuts and small grazes.
With that thought in mind, Ishrak swung his sword in a backhand stroke and then followed up with an uppercut from his scythe.
He was rewarded with a hiss of pain as the unexpected move caught the human off guard. His weapon had shredded the leather armor the human wore, and an angry line of red started to form where the blade had struck. It was by no means the decisive blow that Ishrak had hoped for, but it was a start.
The doubts that Ishrak had about him winning this fight started to disappear. His attack was the shift in the balance of the fight that was needed to give him the advantage. Where once there had been none, there was now a clear path to victory.
***
Like all dances, there were rises and falls in the movements made. There were crescendos and decrescendos in the notes of the music, and the pace could be changed in an instant. There were shifts in the dance that, if someone wasn't prepared for, would set them off tempo and their rhythm would be lost.
Only the most experienced could recoup and recover in order to rejoin the dance as if they hadn't missed a beat, but Alex was not one such person. His stumble turned into a cascade of errors that ruined the symphony. To the stars above who witnessed the fight, it was clear this dance was coming to a close…
***
Alex's breath came in ragged gasps as he staggered backwards from another strike that tore a gash across his midsection. It had all started going wrong after that one attack that shifted the fight's pace. He had been on the backfoot ever since that moment, and recovery was all but impossible at this point.
Focus Alex, you can do this.
Except he couldn't. Breathing hurt like hell, his chest felt like it was on fire and his limbs felt as heavy as lead. Moving his arms to block the next attack that came his way took a herculean amount of effort, and even though it was blocked, the attack sent a rattling vibration through his bones.
Stay on your feet, don't give up.
That was a lot easier said than done. All he wanted to do was fall to his knees and give his aching body the respite it was begging for.
Even so, he wasn't ready to give in and surrender, he still had some fight in him. Alex sidestepped the next attack from the Daemon and responded with a feeble attempt of a counter, which was easily blocked by the leering warlord.
He had long since tuned out Arburnok's voice, a feat he didn't even know was really possible. Or maybe the Daemon had gone silent. Alex couldn't really say, and he didn't really care. Staying in this fight and staying alive was priority number one, he could deal with everything else after this was over.
Over? What a silly thought.
The only way that this would be over was when his mind finally accepted what his body was telling it. There was no way to achieve victory. There was no way for him to get out of this fight in one piece. This fight had been over before it even truly started, and he was a fool for thinking that he had any chance of winning it in the first place.
Alex took another step backwards, just barely getting out of reach of the sword's sweeping reach before it separated his head from his body.
He wasn't just stumbling around and trying to survive anymore, he was losing. Every time the Daemon's weapons lashed out, a new cut formed where they struck.
There was only one road to victory that Alex saw. The one chance he had at surviving this ordeal. It wasn't a guaranteed win, and it was a longshot, but it was now the only route available to him if he didn't want to die again. It was the only option, and he was loath to use it.
Dammit all.
[Rage of the Hero] was a skill that had saved his ass on more than one occasion, and it was the only reason he had been able to make it to Amanda when they were being held by Anton. It was a powerful skill that could change the outcome of this fight, all he had to do was activate it.
Yet, he hesitated. The last time he had activated the skill it had resulted in him almost losing himself, slaughtering a bunch of guards that still haunted his dreams and worst of all, a cracked soul. It was a powerful skill, there was no doubt, but there were drawbacks and dangers to using that skill.
Alex also didn't want to depend on the skill for every little thing. Relying on one skill to be his trump card in any scenario was dangerous, not only because of the inherent dangers of using the skill, but also because it was such a powerful skill to begin with. It would be easy for him to simply activate the skill and brute force his way through any situation.
And that was the crux of the issue for him. He wanted to succeed on his own merits. He wanted to be able to prove himself. In his past life he had depended on others to give him every little thing, and that ended up with him never having the strength to stand up for himself. This fight, and the fact that he was losing it was proof. Proof that nothing had really changed.
He thought he had gotten stronger, thought that he could handle any situation that came up, but this clash with the warlord was a slap in the face.
He was as weak as ever. He had thought himself untouchable, and why wouldn't he? Despite the universe's best attempts to kill him, he always survived.
His newfound "strength" was just as false as the smiles he put on in his old life to keep his mom happy, and he was about to pay dearly for his belief that it was real. Despite all of this, he just couldn't bring himself to activate the skill that could save him. He was going to die again, and it was his own damn fault.
You really screwed up this time Alex.
***
The universe loved to play games like this. It would ensure that two shining stars would clash, and the outcome in which one star swallowed the other was inevitable.
As all things must, this dance was coming to an end. Two destinies had been weighed against each other, and only one could survive.